


i am no informant

by deerdelmar



Category: Original Work
Genre: And it's emotional repercussions, Basically its like atla & warrior cats, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mentions of War, Original Warrior Cats inspired world, Sibling bickering, breakdowns, sometimes u just need to have a cry to make u feel better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerdelmar/pseuds/deerdelmar
Summary: Sloemask doesn't deserve the kindness of reassurance. Of softness. Love. Friendship. She deserves the pain and heat of the battlefield, to face the fury of those lives who were dealt the losing paw.She has killed so many, and yet was never there to witness it.





	i am no informant

**Author's Note:**

> written 5.23.20 for me & my friend's silly cat universe.

“Hemmy!” A voice croons down the hallway. “Berry!”  
The sound of nails click-clacking against hard stone flooring echoes off of the too-tall walls and lofty ceilings. Sloemask could guess who it was just by the rhythm they carried, and annoyingly, they belonged to none other than the youngest of the royal heirs...

“Yew!” Hemlockflame practically booms, bounding from Sloe’s side to their sister, who rounds the corner to grin at both of them, the edges of it fraying with its intensity. She can see through it immediately, Yew has never been talented at faking smiles, only making them more intense. 

Sloe stops in her tracks, fur raising slightly at the look in her eyes. Hemlock and Yew touch noses briefly, and as Hemlock begins to assail her with a barrage of questions about where she's been and this, that, or the other, the molly in question keeps grinning, eyes locked on Sloe’s own. 

“What are you doing here?” Sloe’s voice is level and emotionless, but it effectively cuts through the room, the excitement in Hemlock’s posture dying and the grin on Yew’s face dropping. They look at her, Yew with faint annoyance and Hemlock with confusion and concern. 

“Am I not allowed to greet my siblings?” Yew counters, her feather-like furred tail lashing. Hemlock’s brow furrows and he pulls a face, backing up to let Yew walk towards Sloe. 

Anger simmers in her gut as Yew gracefully approaches her, pawsteps light and airy. Sloe crushes that feeling in her stomach, holding herself rigid and carefully as her sister’s claws click on the hard flooring, extended and glowing as she stalks closer. 

“I know very well that’s not what you’re doing here,” Sloe says carefully, and as Yew reaches her they touch noses, only to pull back just as quick. 

A laugh peters out of Yew and she looks to her, then her brother who has come to join them. “No.” She looks back to Sloe, pleased. “No, not at all.”

“You haven’t come to start a fight again, have you?” Hemlock pipes up, his voice light and teasing.

She laughs again, genuinely this time. “I’m afraid not, unless you’d like to spar.”

“Always.” 

“Later,” She promises, holding his gaze with a confident look, and it's returned to her. “I have things to do first.”

Sloe is tired. So, so tired. The last time they had sparred, both were so injured they had to be off duty for a week.  
“Which is?” Sloe prompts, stepping forward into Yew’s space. 

“I need to get my badge to enter the Earth Kingdom,” Yew says bluntly, and Sloe can feel an unadulterated rage bubble in her chest. 

It must show on her face, because both her siblings step back, Yew’s gaze sliding to Hemlock and back. “I’m not going to-“

“You’re not going, period,” Sloe seethes, stepping closer, chest puffed and claws extended, pushing Yew back, and back, and back, until her hindquarters hit the wall. Yew attempts to protest, but as she does, Sloe leans into her face and snarls. “You are not to enter their territory. They have not forgotten what you have done to their cats.”

“Oh, so your paws are clean?” Yew bites, pushing Sloe back. 

“I never said they were!”

“Stop,” Hemlock says, and they both go quiet, Sloe snarling low as he pushes her away from Yew. “Let her say her piece.”

“Thank you,” Yew says, uncaring about hiding the annoyance in her voice. “I’ve been invited,” She says haughtily, and levels her gaze at Sloe. “As have you.”

Discomfort bubbles in Sloe’s chest, face dropping. She crushes the feelings quickly and schools her face, but not in time for her sister to level a smug look her way.  
“We leave in two days, be ready by then.” 

Sloe doesn’t respond, uncaring and unfeeling, and turning on her heel she stalks away to her room. 

“You,” Sloe commands, and the servant who’d been talking quietly to his fellow workers whips around to stare at her wide-eyed. 

“Me…?” He squeaks out, staring at her half in awe and wholly unsure. The silence stretches on awkwardly, Sloe raising her eyebrows expectantly before one of his fellow workers bumps him and whispers into his ear. “Oh,” He stands straighter, looking at her with cobbled together confidence. “Lemonpaw, your prominence.”

“Lemonpaw,” Sloe echoes, “I’m in need of a letter I have to be delivered. Out of kingdom. See to it at once.”

“Y-yes, your prominence,” He spares the others a glance before he trots off in the direction of Great Hall, one of the workers following after. 

The other two works spare her a glance, but she quickly strides away, leaving burning pawsteps in her wake. 

Sloe enters her plain room, and looking about, it miraculously makes her feel even worse.  
Her bed is terribly impersonal, made as if she had never slept there. Standard sheets tucked in neatly and a perfect pillow that bore no use. Granted, it would be a bit alarming if they looked used, as she’d often fall asleep in meeting rooms or wherever she’d hunker down to study or do work. It didn’t help the room’s case.  
The walls are bare aside from an assortment of medals and awards, some for “bravery and courage” or “brilliant strategic knowledge”. Which really just meant they were congratulating her on killing or not being killed. She scoffs.  
There are no personal touches.

The impersonal and muted surroundings addle the unpleasant emotions curdling in her belly, and she shuts her eyes and imagines a life where she had never been her father’s right paw in the war. Where she commanded no troops and lived life as a commoner far from the throne.

The war left no life unscathed. She knows this. But it’s nice to imagine a life where she didn’t have to feel the repercussions so heavily.

Her mounting annoyance and melancholy is cut short. There’s the quiet beat of feathers from the wall just beside her, and the tenseness that had gathered from hearing movement quickly melts away upon seeing who it was. 

“Princess,” Wispyloft greets, landing on the wide sill of one of the windows. The wide window sill was made for messengers, but more specifically Wispy, as no other messenger had set paw upon it without being chewed out by Sloe. 

“Your highness,” Sloe corrects, the softness in her voice betraying her fondness. Her face remains emotionless, yet she quickly makes her way to the Air Kingdom cat with her tail high. 

“Right, right. I’m ready to take a message, your hiney,” Wispy coos from the sill. “Who’s this dedicated to?”

“It’s for the Earth Kingdom.”

Wispy’s expression tightens, and she opens her mouth to say something, only for Sloe to cut her off.

“I’m sorry,” Sloe says genuinely. “I’m aware you dislike them, however it’s of utmost importance.”

“Well,” Wispy’s wings unfold before she pulls them flush to her body again, not quite looking at Sloe. “The Jolly Green Giants don’t like me either, so the feelings are mutual.”

Sloe stares at her quietly, searching, and when Wispy looks back she startles slightly under her gaze, brow knit and a smile cropping up. She preens, movements languid and exaggerated, wings held loosely and chest puffed. “You like what you see?” She teases, raising her eyebrows and wiggling her shoulders. 

“Why?” Sloe asks suddenly, and Wispy is left blinking and out of place. 

“Why am I so cute?” Wispy asks, returning Sloe’s searching gaze with one of her own. 

“No. Why do they dislike you?” Sloe opens her mouth to say more, but she grits her jaw, letting out a sigh. “I’ve known you since the war, but not what you’ve done.”

Wispy laughs, but it's humorless and terse. “I don’t think it’s very polite to ask that.”

“I’m the heir to the throne. I can-“

“Ask what you want. I know.”

Sloe lets out a breath. “Whatever you have done,” She says simply, voice bloated with meaning, “I have done worse.”

Wispy laughs, simple and quiet and unsure. She blinks and shrugs. “I spied on General Granitedirt himself. Me and my mentor.”

Sloe considers this, and she processes it, and watches Wispy for a moment before she laughs something bitter, head ducked and ears folded flat against her head. “Both of us had more than a paw in this war then, didn’t we?”

Cautiously but still casual, Wispy leans forward, her tail flipping behind her as she smiles softly at the black molly before her. “I think just a paw in it is,” She lets out a breathy laugh, extending the forearms of her wings and looking down at herself, then to Sloe, “a bit of an understatement?” 

Sloe shuffles backwards in a quiet invitation for the molly to enter the room, and she laughs wetly, tears beginning to rise in her eyes. And after a pregnant silence, it breaks as her once deadpan mask crumples and her body wracks silently. Quietly, a choked sob leaves her muzzle, body shaking and head ducking to hide her tears. And yet she makes no move to leave or get closer to Wispy. 

“Oh,” Wispy says intelligently, staring wide-eyed and unsure. “Um. It isn’t an understatement. ‘Just a paw,” She says it softly, the joking lilt in her voice forced and hesitant as she stands with a paw on the cold floor, balanced precariously on the sill of Sloe’s window. 

Sloe gives no reaction except for shaky inhales, and landing softly on the floor, Wispy moves forward on unsure paws, her eyes trained only on the cat crying before her. 

Smoke curls from Sloe’s mouth in rivulets, head ducked and shoulders raised as if to hide her, muffle her already too-quiet sobs. Embarrassment aids the ugly feelings already burning in her throat, upturning the darkness that has her rib cage squeezing tight and heart thudding. Breathing comes short, and she hears the cracking of fire in her ears and the seer of heat licking the nerves in her paws, leaving her feeling raw and out of control. 

It occurs to Sloe, for a moment, this might’ve been the first time she’s cried in front of anyone in a long, long while. She herself could count the times she’d cried a single paw, and the amount of years it’d been since she’d last really had a breakdown like this would require more than the amount of toes she had on all of her paws together. 

But there's a feather light touch at the top of her head, and instinctively she shies away, the ugly anger in her heart goading her feelings into believing she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve the kindness of reassurance. Of softness. Love. Friendship. She deserves the pain and heat of the battlefield, to face the fury of those lives who were dealt the losing paw. 

She has killed so many, and yet was never there to witness it. 

But Wispy tries again, undeterred, and softly says, “It’s okay.” 

And she wants to believe it. Sloe wants to believe it so badly that the crushing feeling in her heart and throat are forgotten for a moment in desperation, and unfettered from these feelings she pushes into Wispy’s comfort greedily, brushing against her cheek and hiding herself in the white molly’s neck fur. The feathers tickle her nose and her horns sit awkwardly against Wispy’s face, but she finds a comfort so overwhelming in the paw that has been pressed against her shoulder that it wholly dampens the discomfort. 

And she sobs. She sobs for all that she’s worth into her friend’s shoulder, in a cold, empty room that's supposed to be hers. 

“So many good cats died, Wispy,” She whispers into her white fur, eyes squeezed tight as if it would force the tears to stop flowing. 

“They did,” Wispy returns just as quiet. She stares forlornly at the wall ahead of her, and with a shaky sigh, she shut her eyes as well and set her head against Sloe’s neck. “They did.”

She cries for what feels like forever, Wispy’s comforting words filling her ears until she has no more tears left in her, and exhausted she slumps limply against her. 

“C’mon,” Wispy encourages softly, nudging her towards her bed, “let’s let her hiney get some shut eye.”

“Your highness,” Sloe corrects, but there's no urgency to it. She leans against the white molly as she shuffles with her towards the bed, and placidly she crawls onto it, flopping down with a long suffering sigh.  
“Please don’t tell anyone,” She whispers, not even raising her head. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Wispy says just as quiet, and with a soft sigh she turns and leaps onto the sill, wings spread slightly and face upturned to the sky. 

“Thank you,” Sloe calls, and as Wispy turns to look at her from over her shoulder, she’s sat up slightly, watching her with a sad look that doesn’t belong on her face. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow, your highness,” Wispy says, and when Sloe offers her the barest upturn of a smile, she smiles back, and takes off. 

When her fellow messengers prod for gossip, Wispyloft can only tell them sadly, there was nothing juicy to report.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you if you read this! if you'd like to know more about the story, characters, or universe, i guess just comment! stay safe!


End file.
